


Sunrise, Parabellum

by SolarSystem



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, CW: Suicidal imagery, First fic in fandom, M/M, apologies if the dudes are ooc, cw: suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:48:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22441348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarSystem/pseuds/SolarSystem
Summary: A scene plays out, like watching the final act in a tragicomedy. An old, sad man floating in nothing, blood flowing from his wrists and taut noose wrapped around his neck like a halo.
Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi
Comments: 41
Kudos: 124





	1. Disco Inferno

On a warm, sunny day of May, ‘52, a lieutenant stands at the doorstep of an old, worn apartment. Around him, the city of Jamrock thrums with life. The syncopated steps of travelers and locals alike and the drum rolls of growling vehicles weave to make her symphony. 

A series of quick, sharp raps against the wooden door pierces through the clamor of the city, it’s the sixth time Kim has knocked on the door. He shifts, awaiting a reply. No answer. Behind him, the roaring engine of his Coupris Kineema abates to slow rumble. 

His brow furrows even more as a frown tugs at the corner of his mouth. Kim glances at his wristwatch.

_8:20_ , it reads. The latest Harry would arrive at the precinct was 8:00, but he was nowhere to be found. The hand behind his back clenches into a tight fist. 

Shaking his head, Kim turns to descend from the steps. The detective must be somewhere besides his home or work. 

_Wait._

He stops in his tracks. 

_Something is wrong here_.

A sinking feeling nestles in the pit of Kim’s stomach as he turns back to the door, looming over him like a foreboding omen. 

The lieutenant swallows, fishing out a spare key Harry had given him from his pocket; The bronze metal catching light in the sun. 

He’d rather not intrude in someone’s home, even if given permission to do so on multiple occasions. A faint memory plays in his head, _C’mon, Kim, you can come by literally anytime! Just pop in, no problem- I gave you the key for that reason!_

Shaking the memory away, he inserts the key into the slot; It fits perfectly. With a turn, the lock clicks satisfyingly and the door creaks open. 

Kim stands in the doorway, the morning sun basking the unlit house in pale light. He steps in, muttering a silent apology for intruding. This is an exception, his intuition is screaming at his that something isn’t right here, and…

His intuition is seldom wrong.

The floorboards moan and creak under his weight as Kim ventures further in the house, taking careful steps to navigate the darkness. The sound of groaning wood echoes infinitely in the empty, silent house.

Near a window, he spots a houseplant that Harry had picked out when the two of them were searching for plants for his apartment; the _clivia miniata,_ a Bush lily. Its long green leaves are luscious, sprouting from the base like an erupting geyser. The orange flowers glow vibrantly, its colors still bright despite the darkness; like a roaring fire in the night, glittering embers flickering into the night sky. The plant is obviously well cared for and well loved. Kim smiles to himself. 

Then, something else catches his attention. A lone white letter on a bare coffee table. Kim walks towards the table, picking the note up to read it.

His eyes widen as he reads the words. The sinking feeling in the pit of stomach grows, clawing at his throat. His vision swarms, the thundering beat of his heart pounding in his ears.

_Die for me, Harry,_ written in beautiful cursive.

Panic seizes him for a moment, an immense fear for Harry overwhelms his senses. The note is thrown back on the table as Kim lunges towards the staircase leading to Harry’s bedroom. It’s closed- someone is still in there.

The door slams open against the drywall with enough force it nearly cracks. 

“Harry!” The lieutenant yells, his voice slightly cracking, reverberating against the walls.

A body lies on the bed in the center of the room, the open door illuminating it like a spotlight. A man, frozen in time, still on the sheets. His face is pale, juxtaposing the bright red viscous liquid that poured freely from his wrists; his arm limp on the edge of the mattress, the blood spilling onto the floor.

The lieutenant’s breath chokes up in his throat, any words coming out as a strangled mess. He squeezes his eyes shut, a repeating mantra of _no_ ringing hysterically in his head. It’s the tribunal all over again, him kneeling uselessly over Harry’s bleeding body. An overwhelming cold, numbing feeling washes over his body. It feels as if his legs have petrified, fuzing to the old floorboards.

No. Kim grits his teeth, forcing his emotions at bay. A moment of clarity amidst his panic.

Focus. Focus! The telltale slow rise and fall of Harry’s chest means he’s breathing. He’s still alive, now keep him alive.

A checklist forms in his mind as his body moves automatically to execute the tasks.

Towels.

Water

Bandages.

. . .

* * *

  
  


Oh, Harry… You’ve done it again.

A man cracks open his eyes. He’s swimming-no, _drowning-_ in the inky, infinite darkness.

“Again?” He croaks, his hoarse voice barely a whisper.

Yes, Harry. Again. Tried to snuff out what little life you have left like you’ve tried over and over and over again. But you never could, because you’re a _failure_.

A scene plays out, like watching the final act in a tragicomedy. An old, sad man floating in nothing, blood flowing from his wrists and taut noose wrapped around his neck like a halo.

“Am I ... dead?”

Are you dead? What a stupid question to ask. You’ve been dead- ever since _she_ left you. You’ve never been alive for a single moment of your godforsaken life. 

The voice booms, ringing endlessly in his ears and in his chest. It makes him feel like throwing up. 

So why’d you do it this time, Harry boy?

“The letter,” He rasps, it’s getting harder to breathe. “She told me-”

And you listened, huh? Just like a dog. Kicked to the curb and beat to shit but you’d still come back to _her,_ wagging your tail around.You’re the fucking tragedy and joke here.

“I… I…”

Thought she’d come back, did you?

“...”

She won’t, Harry. Face it- you think a measly letter can change everything? She’s gone, leaving only the stench of apricot. She’s gone forever.

“...”

And you’ll never be over it. You’ll still look for her, beyond the video rental store, in every waking moment, in your dreams, in your nightmares. She left you, but you just can’t leave her.

Wake up, Harry boy.

The echoing voice in the darkness grows fainter.

Sunrise, Parabellum.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Yes,”

“Yes, I’ll make sure. No, he’s right here.”

“... Thank you. Good bye.”

A faint drone of a conversation reaches Harry’s ears as he slowly returns to consciousness. He blinks, his head and mouth feeling like cotton.

He looks blearily over to the source of the noise. Kim, standing over his drawer with a radio receiver in hand. It looks like the lieutenant brought over his radio from his Kineema inside. Almost as if he was afraid to leave the detective’s side.

The conversation comes to an end as Kim places the receiver back on the radio. He sighs wearily, his shoulders sagging. He looks incredibly tired.

Swallowing with his dry throat, Harry croaks,

“Kim.”

The lieutenant whips around, his eyes wide. The two stare at each other. 

“Harry.”

Silence. None of them knows what to say.

Kim takes a tentative step closer when Harry tries to sit up. “How are you feeling, lieutenant-yefreitor?”

Lieutenant-yefreitor- He’s being professional. He can’t afford to be emotional.

“I…” Harry starts, rubbing idly at his bandaged arms. “I’ve been better.” He says simply.

He glances up, stealing a quick look at his partner. Kim is looking off to the side, staring into space. Despite his typically collected composure, he looks...worried. Afraid, even? What happened must’ve shaken him up a bit. The lieutenant takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know how to approach the topic, but he has to.

“What happened, lieutenant?” Kim stares into Harry’s eyes, seemingly trying to convey _It’s okay. You can tell- you can trust me._

Maybe so, a treacherous part of his mind hisses. But he can’t trust you- he’ll only get hurt and leave you like _she_ did. Don’t tell him. He can’t know. 

Harry peels his eyes away and keeps them fixed onto the ground, not saying a word. 

Kim sighs softly, taking a step forward, only hesitating for a split second before kneeling before the man. He takes Harry’s hands into his own, Harry’s eyes flicker involuntarily to his. 

The lieutenant swallows nervously. He knows he’s less versed in things emotional, opting for the more logical questions and answers, and crossing things off his checklist. But for Harry he’d…

“Harry.” He says so softly, it’s barely louder than a whisper. He needs Harry to know. “I trust you. You can trust me- You can tell me.” Kim squeezes the man’s hands slightly, a comforting gesture.

“I…” Harry unconsciously returns the gesture and swallows. “I trust you.” He smiles, it’s barely there but it’s there. For Kim, he thinks.

“It’s a bit of a long story…”

The lieutenant nods, rubbing circles in Harry’s hands. 

“We’ve got all day, Harry.”

  
  
  
  



	2. Her Innocence,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unable to speak, he does the only thing he knows how to do.
> 
> He runs.

The lieutenant and his partner sit side by side on the sofa in the living room. He waits patiently as Harry mulls over his words, thinking of what to say. 

“Okay,” Harry says finally, catching Kim’s attention. He turns to him, uneasy eyes meeting a firm, supporting gaze. 

“You know the past week? The case that nearly fucked us all over?”

* * *

_ The Body Parts Case _ was a particularly grueling case that left the C-wing stumped and increasingly frustrated. Each new carcass earned itself a bold headline on the papers,  _ Serial Killer Strikes Again! Police at a Loss for What to do! _ And each new spotlight on the murders in the papers earned itself a long string of curses from Jean, who’d slam the newspaper down on his desk and march off to the break room for even more coffee.

A killer had began a collection of body parts; eyes, ears, noses, limbs, organs, and the such. A dead body would show up, seemingly untouched save for the removal of a part. Yesterday, the C-wing found a breakthrough that unraveled the red thread that led to the perpetrator.

Elated from finally solving the case, the C-wing decided to celebrate and kick off the night with a dinner at a local, cozy diner after a week and a half of nearly no sleep; except for Harry who wanted to go home straight away.

“Sorry,” Harry groans, with one hand rubbing his temples. “This migraine is  _ killing  _ me. I’m just gonna head home.” 

The others look at him in disappointment at his absence but also in understanding. Pale and blotchy skin, red eyes and dark circles from days and days without sleep and running on nothing but bitter caffeine. Out of everyone, he slept the least. Sobriety did not help.

With a final wave of goodbye and a clap on his back that nearly throws him off balance from Jean (Judit sends him an apologetic smile,) Harry turns to walk back to his apartment.

He misses the longing glance the lieutenant throws at him with his back turned.

The streets are empty, it’s nearing midnight as a cool spring breeze passes by the closed up shops on the sides of the road. With each step, the insistent throbbing in Harry’s head worsens and an overwhelming sense of nausea churns in his stomach. 

He feels like absolute garbage. This is a contender for the worst feeling ever since going sober and that’s saying a lot. He rounds a corner and trips over the uneven sidewalk, his vision swims, the nausea threatening to spill over. The detective grips the wall in a moment of panic, and struggles to regain his balance, continuing on with wobbly steps.

Going home is a fever dream, his head is pounding like the hard bass in an overly crowded nightclub. Harry touches his forehead, it’s scorching. Fuck.

It’s fine, he’s almost home anyway. Harry turns right on another corner and then-

The scent of apricots wrapping sweetly around him. He freezes and then shakes his head, the motion leaving him dizzy. The smell doesn’t disappear. If anything, it grows stronger- it’s getting  _ closer. _

In his swarming vision, a faint white silhouette stands before him. His body stiffens, like a corpse undergoing rigor mortis.

She approaches silently, the moon curls behind her head, a crown fit only for her.

“Harry.” Her voice rings out like a gunshot in the silent street.

His throat tightens. This can’t be real.

“I’m dead.” She says in the faintest voice. The wind carries her words across the deserted street, echoing against the buildings.

“D-dora?”

She takes a step closer, her red stained white dress brushing against the concrete pavement. She sounds like bells chiming in an empty room.

“I’m dead, Harry.” She says as if she’s mourning. “You killed me.”

“N-no.  _ No.  _ Th-this is real… You aren’t real!” He screams, hysterically. He stumbles backwards, panting heavily and gripping his hammering heart.

Dora closes her eyes, blood pooling in her mouth and spilling beneath her lips. She looks frighteningly beautiful, her skin pale as ivory like a macabre statue of the romanticized embodiment of death.

“I’m real, Harry.” A silent step closer, heels clicking soundlessly on the ground. “And I’m dead.” A hand moves to a gaping hole in her stomach. “You did this.” She whispers.

“No, no, no, no, no, no…” He chants like a mantra- a prayer, his hands tugging painfully at his hair. “Just…” Harry’s head whips to face her, eyes widening and burning with tears.

“ _ Just fucking leave me alone! _ ”

She sighs softly. “Oh, Harry.” And shakes her head ever so slightly, blood gurgling in her throat.

“It’s  _ you _ who won’t leave me alone.”

The words Harry tries to says chokes up in his throat, clawing out as an ugly sob. 

Unable to speak, he does the only thing he knows how to do.

He runs.

He runs past her bloody corpse, past half-familiar streets, past everything he once knew. He runs until his legs are burning and aching, until his lungs are contracting painfully, desperate for air, until he slams against his front door with his heart pounding beneath his rib cage.

Harry scrambles to take out his keys. With shaking hands he thrusts the key into the lock, the metal scratching the surface until the movement finally connects. The door swings open and he barrels in. The door slams shut with his back flush against it, the frame rattling from the strength of it.

On the ground, the city is quiet. A deafening silence weighing heavily in his ears as he struggles to calm his racing heart. A sob tears from his throat and like a broken dam, everything spills over. Hot tears pour from his squeezed-shut eyes, his breath hitching and hiccuping. Alone in his home, the darkness outlines Harry’s trembling silhouette.

Finally out of tears to shed, Harry lies slumped against the wooden door. He breathes heavily, unable to move as his eyelids slowly begin to slide shut. He’s so exhausted, he can just pass out…

A gentle wind brushes past his body. Harry’s eyes flicker up to a window that he left open probably this morning. The moon is visible through the glass, it’s light casting an ethereal glow in the apartment. Something on the table catches his eyes.

After a moment of debating in his head, Harry slowly gets up-  _ god, he’s so fucking tired- _ And inches towards the table. The old, rickety floorboards creak beneath his weight. 

He stumbles on the way,  _ just like a fucking drunk, _ his mind snarls.  _ That’s why she fucking left you, you goddamn, useless piece of shit. That’s why she fucking died- Because of you.  _ He closes his eyes, a flash of red dripping out from a wet cavity, heavy with the scent of blood and apricots echoes in his head. 

He reaches the table, a hand on the edge to steady himself. Harry takes the paper, it glistens in the ray of moonlight. His heart drops before his mind could process the too-familiar handwriting.

A beautiful cursive, neat and elegant, a handwriting he could pick out instantly were it to be hidden in a pile of a million notes all written in script.

_ Die for me, Harry. _

The scent of apricot clings onto the back of his throat.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this!! I am having fun writing this!!


	3. A moment of respite. Breathe in and out.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s alive. A surge of emotions rushes in his chest, relief that Harry is still here, an ache for the terrors that are plaguing his partner. Kim allows his guard to fall in the sole company of the person he trusts the most. A small smile rests on his face.

The two officers sit in silence as Kim slowly takes in Harry’s words. Above them, the lights hummed quietly as electricity passed through the currents. The warm golden light washes over them, as Harry thrums his fingers against the armrest of the sofa.

Kim nods slowly, having digested the retelling of last night’s events completely. His face is completely unreadable, a corollary of his composure. “I see-”

“I'm sorry.” The words tumble from Harry’s mouth, hurried and rushed. His eyes pointedly avoiding Kim’s gaze as if it were the plague and burning holes onto the floor. “I’m sorry for-you know. I wasn’t thinking straight from the sleep deprivation,the fever, seeing D-  _ her _ . I’m sorry I got you into this mess, You don’t deserve thi-”

“Harry.” The lieutenant said, his voice firm yet gentle, filled with concern. He places his hand on Harry’s forearm, silencing him immediately.

“That doesn’t matter, Harry. When I saw you on the bed…” His voice wavers at the end, growing quiet. The lieutenant shakes his head, as if to clear the image from his head. 

“I’m just glad you’re alive.” He whispers, his relief too overwhelming to hide.

Harry swallows down the lump constricting his throat and tries to will the burning sensation behind his eyes away. He turns his head slightly away from Kim. If the lieutenant notices his watering eyes, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he focuses on the steady pulse he feels through his gloved fingers. 

“I…  _ I'm  _ sorry, Harry,” Kim says. His partner’s head whips toward him with bewildered eyes.

“What? What for?” He asks, confused.

The lieutenant turns his head towards the bedroom, his eyes unreadable. “I know it's irrational but I can't help but feel responsible. You were ill last night, extremely ill.” He closes his eyes, shakes his head and scoffs. “I should have gone with you, made sure you got home safe, made sure you were okay…” 

A brief moment of silence. He’s blaming himself, Harry realizes in horror. Like he did with Eyes.

“Kim, it’s not your fault. There’s no way you could’ve known.” 

The lieutenant's closes his eyes, inner turmoil rampant behind his eyelids. He opens them, a piercing conviction staring straight into Harry's soul. Whatever he's going to say, He's not taking no for an answer.

“Promise me, Harry,” Kim says quietly. “Promise me you’ll  _ never _ do anything like this again.”

“Kim, I-”

“Promise me.  _ Please. _ ” The lieutenant’s voice cracks at the end, his plea hanging heavily in the air. The grip on Harry’s arm tightens, as he could disappear at any moment. 

Harry swallows thickly and nods.

“I promise.”

The lieutenant sighs a breath of relief, satisfied with the answer. He trusts Harry that he will uphold his promise. The two sit in companionable silence, using the moment to gather themselves. Harry’s head begins to dip, the lack of sleep quickly catching up to him. This does not go unnoticed by the lieutenant.

He removes his hand, a small voice in the back of Harry’s head bemoans the sudden lack of contact. Instead, Kim moves his hand to pat Harry’s back, a familiar, comforting gesture. He smiles when the detective looks at him in surprise.

“Get some sleep, Harry.” Kim says, inwardly surprised at how soft his voice sounded. He rolls his eyes internally; the detective’s endearment must be rubbing off him. Harry nods slowly, half his brain already asleep while the other half is preparing to shut off for the day. A thought suddenly occurred to Kim. 

“Ah, before that, is it alright if I inform Lieutenant Vicquemare and Patrol Officer Minot of what happened?”

Stifling a yawn, Harry nods. “Yeah, just spare them the details.”

“Understood.”

Kim watches as Harry steadily succumbs to his exhaustion; his tense muscles relaxing, his breathing evening out, the slight frown he wore softening into a peaceful look. On his face was a light flush; most likely due to the events that occurred today.

Somehow, the hand pressed against Harry’s back finds his way to his cheek; he brushes it with a curled finger. Kim’s eyes soften with fondness.

_ What are you doing?  _ A voice hisses in the back of his mind.  _ You’re being unprofessional, don’t let your emotions control you.  _

A longing ache gnaws at his chest as his hand hovers over Harry’s cheek, unwilling to pull away completely.

_ It’s fine to indulge sometimes. Besides, he’s asleep- he won’t remember this.  _ Kim brings his hand back and strokes Harry’s cheek, feeling the warmth radiating from him. It feels natural- it feels  _ right _ . As if two magnets were coming together, the universe declaring that this is meant to be. Harry doesn’t stir; exhaustion has pulled him into a deep sleep. 

_ He’s alive.  _ A surge of emotions rushes in his chest, relief that Harry is still here, an ache for the terrors that are plaguing his partner. Kim allows his guard to fall in the sole company of the person he trusts the most. A small smile rests on his face.

Kim must be incredibly tired as well, because he swears he felt Harry lean into his touch.

After a few minutes of respite, the lieutenant reluctantly retracts his hand. He slowly moves his body off the sofa as to not rouse Harry, although it seems like the man could sleep through an entire war and then some. There was work to be done.

Making his way back to the bedroom, Kim pulls out his notepad and pen and begins to write while he walks.

_ May 7, ‘52 _

  * _I went to look for Harry when he failed to arrive at work. After knocking 6 times, I entered his home with the key he gave me. I found a note written in cursive on the table. It read, “Die for me Harry.” I found Harry on his bed in the bedroom with slit wrists. Still alive, treated him. When he was resting, I notified Lt. Vicquemare and Officer Minot that he was hurt, no details without Harry’s consent. Harry woke up and said what happened the night before._


  * After The Body Parts case, C-wing went for dinner. Harry went home first due to a migraine. On the way, he had a vision of Dora Ingelrilt, his ex-wife. Saw her, with a hole in her stomach. She kept saying he killed her. He ran home and found a note on the table telling him to die. He had a fever, lack of sleep, and was distressed from what he saw.



Kim’s hand shakes for a moment,

  * _He tried to kill himself._



He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to push down the image of blood flowing from a pale wrist.

  * _Who wrote the letter? It was in Dora Ingelrilt’s handwriting but it’s easy to forge a letter and something tells me it wasn’t her who wrote it._


  * Motive? Someone who has a grudge on Harry? He was the kind of person to accumulate many enemies.


  * Why write the letter? If they wanted him dead, why not kill him themselves? 


  * Timing of the vision and the letter too convenient- Someone was watching him. Someone who knows him well enough to know what he’s scared of.



Kim reaches his radio, scribbling down some last few notes.

    * _Inform Lt. Vicquemare and Office_ r _Minot of what happened. Don’t go too much detail- only what they need to know._



  * _Get a hold of Dora Ingelrilt and question her._



Placing his notepad and pen on the table. Kim picks up the receiver to his ear and dials the precinct number. He waits for a reply, the dial tone buzzing through the speaker. In the corner of his eye, something glistens besides the bed, on the blood soaked floor. A razor crusted with dark liquid. His throat tightens.

“10-2, 10-5. This is 41st, come in! Over.”

A familiar voice drawls out, scratched with faint static. It snaps Kim back into focus. 

“Hello, Mr. Pidieu. Can you put Lieutenant Vicquemare and Patrol Officer Minot on the phone?”

“Give me a second.” The man says. Kim hears him calling for the two officers. In the distance, Lieutenant Vicquemare shouts back and two sets of footsteps grow louder. 

There is the muffled sound of shifting before Officer Minot takes the phone.

“Hello? Lieutenant Kitsuragi? Is this about Harry?”

“Yes, I need to tell you what happened to him last night.”

Some shuffling as Lieutenant Vicquemare gets closer to the receiver.

Kim prepares to relay them the story. Behind him, the razor lies on the ground, mockingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! (And sorry for the delay,) Kudos and comments always appreciated!


	4. Imus in ignem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She stares straight into Harry, her eyes glowing from the flames. She’s beautiful and she’s about to die, like a piece of artwork set ablaze. You’re about to kill her.

Kim swallows with his dry throat, reining in his thoughts. The two officers are silent, holding their breaths for any news of Harry. He begins to speak, keeping his voice level and devoid of any emotions that betrays his collected composure. 

“Last night, after Lieutenant Du Bois went home, he began to hallucinate due to his sleep deprivation and fever. He saw his ex-wife, Dora Ingelrilt.”

He hears Jean mutter a string of curses under his breath. He pauses for a second and then continues. 

“She approached him, with a bleeding wound on her stomach claiming that he killed her. He was incredibly shaken, and ran back to his home where he found a note in her handwriting on his table. It read: “Die for me, Harry.” And then,” 

He swallows down the trembling of his voice, hoping the two officers wouldn’t notice him faltering. 

“He attempted to take his life. Luckily, I found him before he could bleed out. The wounds were shallow.”

Why were they so shallow, he wondered. Was it his incapacitated state, his fever and his deliriousmind preventing him from thinking straight? Or was something subconscious holding him back?

A loud eruption of curses from the other side of the receiver shook him out of his stupor. He could faintly hear Officer Minot attempting to calm down Lieutenant Vicquemare in vain.

“Jean, you need to calm down.” She says, distress clear in her voice. Officer Minot is breathing hard- She’s struggling to stay calm as well. 

“Calm down?! Fuck- How the hell am I supposed to calm down?!” A loud bang cracks out from the speaker, the sound of a fist colliding with a wooden desk. 

“I know you’re upset, I am too-” She says,

Lietenant Vicquemare scoffs, “Upset’s a fucking understatement.” He spits out. Under his breath, he mutters venomously, “Even after seven fucking years, she’s still got him-”

Kim speaks into the receiver, interrupting the small argument between the two officers. 

“Lieutenant, we need to keep it together if we’re going to investigate this.”

_ Investigate- right. Imagine this is just another case, keep your emotions at bay. The moment you let them show, you’ll be ripped to shreds by the unforgiving city; like sharks to the metallic scent of blood. You can’t afford to be emotional.  _

Lieutenant Vicquemare breathes in deeply, five seconds in and out slowly. The other side is silent, anticipation thick in the air.

“Right,” He says finally. “An investigation. What do you have so far, Lieutenant?” 

Kim picks up his notebook and looks over his notes. “There’s the question of who wrote the letter and why. The timing is too perfect- someone must have been watching him. Is there anyone who would do this to him?”

“Is there anyone who would hate Harry’s guts enough to do this? Lieutenant if we were to go over every single person he’s pissed off, we’d be here for eons.”

“Right. That certainly is going to be a bit difficult to narrow down.”

“Perhaps it’s someone who was close to him?” Officer Minot pipes up, “Someone who knows about his ex-wife.”

Kim nods, despite the fact that the others could not see him. “I agree, and speaking of which, I need to reach out to her about this. She may know more. You keep records of personnel at the precinct, no? I’d like to see Harry’s- there may be something that leads to a culprit.”

“We do,” Lieutenant Vicquemare says, “Do you want to come over to pick it up, or…?” Kim ponders for a bit, weighing the pros and cons.

“I’ll stop by later on in the day, thank you.”

“Is there anything else?” Officer Minot asks,  _ anything that we can do?  _

“I’ll need Ms. Ingelrilt’s number- and if you could point out any likely suspects from his arrests or any other incidents, that would be helpful.” 

“Understood, Jules can tell you her number.”

The receiver is handed over to Mr. Pidieu, who relays a long string of numbers. It’s from Graad, he thinks as he scribbles several digits on his notepad; Lifetimes away from Revachol.

He thanks Mr. Piedieu and the two officers as the line cuts and the familiar drone of the dial tone hums in his ears. 

Kim looks at his lists and crosses out “ _ Inform Lt. Vicquemare and Office _ r  _ Minot of what happened. Don’t go too much detail- only what they need to know.”  _ The next step was to call Dora Ingelrilt. 

Slowly, he punches the numbers into the radio; with each turn, the dial clicks and spins back into place. With the final digit, the dial snaps back to zero as the sound of crackling static and a series of beeps fills the room. He waits for nearly an eternity until finally, the click of someone picking up a receiver to their ear.

There’s a beat of silence before they speak,

“Hello?”

* * *

In the distance, there’s a lone figure standing in front of a tree that Harry recognizes as a White Sycamore. It’s bereft of any leaves, it’s bare branches sway slightly in the wind. It looks fragile, like about to snap and shatter to splinters at any given moment.

The figure looks hauntingly familiar but he’s too far to discern any details. He feels an intense urge to walk towards the figure, who seems to be calling to him.

_ Stop,  _ a voice hisses out.  _ You don’t know what you’re doing.  _

“I need to get to her,” He murmurs, his voice garbled as if underwater.

_ Play with fire and you’ll get burned by what kept you safe and warm.  _ The voice only says before vanishing like a wisp of smoke. He walks closer.

Her golden hair glistens in the fleeting rays of a fading sunset. It flutters in the wind, in sync with the branches as if she was one with the tree. Her paper pale skin seems to be glowing ethereally. 

Noticing the man approaching her, she smiles warmly and tilts her head ever so slightly, the sun set ablaze behind her seems to burn brighter.

He stops a few feet before her, unable to move any closer. An overwhelming urge to kneel before her seizes his body. But he doesn’t. All Harry does is stare at her painfully beautiful face for an eternity.

A gust of wind rustles the tree branches, her golden locks flying in the air. The woman shivers slightly and wraps her arms around her torso; she’s cold.

A sudden revelation knocks the breath of out Harry, it feels like someone has dumped a bucket of frigid water over his head. It passes through him from head to toe, leaving his body numb like the aftershocks of a lightning strike. Everything makes sense now, why this woman was so familiar, like the marks of a faded scar.

This isn’t Dolores Dei. It’s her- it’s  _ Dora _ . This is real. It’s not a dream.

_ No, Harry, you’re still dreaming. _ A hoarse voice whispers to him faintly in the back of his mind.  _ You need to wake up before she- _

“Harry. I missed you.” She sighs, her voice feels like euphoria- no drug or bottle of alcohol could ever amount to this.

“Dora,” He says simply, taking a step closer. She’s back.  _ You can be complete again. _

Dora looks away to the side, as if seeing something that only she could see. “Do you remember what I used to tell you, Harry?”

“What?”

She looks back at him, her eyes filled with a strange emotion that he can’t pinpoint. 

“I used to say you were like a wildfire.”

A reel of memories play in his mind. Harry chuckles softly from the sudden wave of nostalgia. 

“Yeah, you used to say the heat of my ‘passion rivals that of a wildfire’ and that if I were to be in a contest against one, I’d always win. I used to be pretty zealous, huh?”

Dora shakes her head, she stares at him with a forlorn expression. It feels like the tug and pull of an oceanic wave, always luring you in and pushing you far, far away at the very last second. 

“You weren’t ‘zealous’, Harry. You were insane.”

“...What?”

The wind begins to howl, rattling the branches. The sky grows dark as the sun dips well below the horizon, leaving only the cold, dying embers of its evanescent warmth. 

“You’re a wildfire and you’re going to engulf everyone you love into flames.” She laughs mirthlessly, “After all, that’s what you always said, right? ‘It’s all just trees’?”

The wind grows in ferocity, the wood of the tree groans from its strength. At the base of the trunk and at her feet, a spark coruscates in the grass. It flickers and catches onto the soft bristles and soon a roaring fire is swirling around the tree and her. Her hair and dress floats from the heat of the fire; the tree behind her cracks and moans as the flames split the wood into infinitesimal fragments. The pristine white bark is charred into black, ashy charcoal.

She stares straight into Harry, her eyes glowing from the flames. She’s beautiful and she’s about to die, like a piece of artwork set ablaze.  _ You’re about to kill her. _

“Anyone who gets close to you is bound to burn. It’s only a matter of time, Harry. He’s next to burn and all you will do is watch as he slowly dies from your inferno.”

The fire swallows her and the tree completely. He waits for the fire to die down, but it only spreads further; greedily and desperately consuming anything and everything in its path, hoping to fill a gaping hole in its chest. The flames clings onto his clothes, his skin, his entire being. 

He waits for death to come.

But it never does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Imus in ignem" means "We go into the fire". Finally, my latin classes are paying off. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter! I am riding this sudden wave of the ability to write as long as I can.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!! Kudos and comments are always loved <3


	5. Golden Showers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like two magnets coming together, Kim muses. Harry does lean into the touch, sighing softly. His thumb draws circles against the fabric of Harry's shirt, coaxing the remnants of his terrors away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! Hit a bit of a block with this one, plus some outside world stuff. On the plus side I got this chapter done and I recently started writing an original story! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

“Hello, is this Dora Ingelrilt?” Kim speaks into the receiver, propping it onto his shoulder to hold his notepad with both hands. Someone shifts on the other side of the line, hundreds and hundreds of miles away.

A pause before a response. 

“...Yes, who is this?” Her voice is soft, she’s nervous.

“My name is Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi from the RCM, I need to ask you some questions.”

“The RCM…? This… This isn’t about Harry, is it?”

“It is, ma'am. Don’t worry he’s not in trouble or anything like that.”  _ Not in the traditional sense, that is. _

“What happened?” She sounds reluctant to ask.

“He’s been injured, and we suspect there has been foul play involved. Whoever did this to him had personal information about him. Is there anyone or any info that comes to mind? Anything will be helpful.”

“I…” Dora Ingelrilt says, a hint of hesitance and compulsion to tell in her voice. “I don’t know...” She’s wary of talking to a stranger but a part of her wants to spill years worth of unsaid words. All that she needs is a little push.

“Then if it’s alright with you, why don’t you start with your relationship with Detective Du Bois? That would be a good starting point for context.”

“Well, we used to be engaged.” She starts, “We were together for, oh,” She thinks for a moment, “Nearly for two decades. We started dating when we were in our mid twenties. Harry, he was…” Kim can practically hear her small smile as Dora Ingelrilt reminisced about her past, sifting through years of fond memories. There was a point in time when their relationship was still thriving, a warm fire before it was smothered completely. 

She huffs a small laugh, “Well, he was quite eccentric, to say the least. Very energetic and full of life. I suppose that was what drew me to him- there was something electrifying about him.” Kim says nothing, allowing her to speak freely. 

“We used to be so happy,” She sighs, “Before Harry joined the RCM,” A pause as she shakes her head, her voice filled with disdain. 

“Then, he became more and more withdrawn, absent. He devoted himself to solving case after case, like it was his lifeline. He stopped seeing things normally, everything became- what was it?” She snaps her fingers after a few seconds of deliberation, “Trees.”

A weary sigh crackles through the receiver, scattered by waves of frequency.

“He was insane.” 

Kim raises an eyebrow at the wording. He knows the detective’s methods are unconventional, to say the least, but it always produced results and shed light on even the most obscure mysteries that seemingly had no relation to the actual case itself. Admittedly, he was impressed by the sharpness of his partner’s mind, how Harry could pick up even the most minute details.

“And the drinking-” Dora Ingelrilt says, snapping Kim out of his thoughts, “Ever since Harry became an officer, he’s been drinking so much.” A brief pause. “But, I can understand why.”

“Everyone has their vices to survive, to cope. His was drinking, mine was,” Her voice drops to a murmur, a trace of guilt beneath her words. “When Harry would stay late at the office, I would be… with another man," 

“I see-”

“It’s just that,” She interrupts, the need to explain herself, “He was so distant- so far gone in his cases, in his head, in those damned trees of his, and that  _ friend  _ of his-” The word is punctuated with a startling venom, surprising Kim. 

She scoffs and continues, “I always had a feeling he loved  _ him  _ more than me. I told Harry to stop with that silly phase of his, it’s not natural. He said he did, but after his death…. It was like he was mourning a lover.” Another heavy sigh, she sounds exasperated.

_ So she’s one of those kinds of people,  _ Kim thinks wearily. A part of him is relieved Harry is no longer with her, though he wishes her absence hadn’t caused his being to deteriorate. He files the information about his partner possibly being bi-sexual for later. 

Clearing his throat, Kim speaks, “His friend? Can you tell me more about him?”

“His friend? What was his name…” She hums in thought and after a brief moment, she snaps her fingers. “Ah, his name was Addison. How could I forget? Harry always talked about him non-stop, it always drove me crazy. Addison this, Addison that. But after his death, he stopped talking about him completely. He never told me what happened.”

"Did he ever give you a full name?"

"Yes he did, what was it…? Addison...Addison..." Each word is accompanied by the clicking of nails on a wooden table. 

"Oh yes, Addison Monet. That's it."

"Thank you, ma'am." Kim says as he jots down the name onto the sheet. Finally, a lead. A flimsy one, but the only one he has. 

"Is there anything else, officer?" Dora Ingelrilt asks.

Is there? This was the chance to find out something about Harry, and he probably wouldn't get this chance again. 

In the other room, something shuffles restlessly. It must be Harry.

"No, thank you for your cooperation."

The receiver buzzes for a few seconds, a moment of hesitation. Finally the line cuts with a click. Seems like she doesn't want anything to do with this. Kim allows a fraction of his distaste for Dora Ingelrilt's lack of concern to slip. Then he diverts his attention to more pressing matters.

The sound of labored breathing grows louder as Kim draws nearer to the sofa where Harry rests. He is no longer sleeping, perched on the cushions with his back hunched. Kim's brow furrows at the disheveled state his partner appears to be in.

Harry's eyes are unfocused and glazed over as if a flickering reel is playing in his head. His skin is slightly damp from perspiration and flush from exertion. Wordlessly, Kim takes a seat beside him. Harry doesn't react, save for a twitch in his hand.

For a few moments Kim says nothing. Instead he selfishly relishes in the heat rolling off the body beside him, a constant reminder that Harry's alive. Finally, he speaks.

"Nightmare?"

Harry nods his head ever so slightly.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

He blinks, and shakes his head softly.  _ Not now. _

His eyes then turn to Kim, a melancholy tinged look of expectancy. Before Kim can wonder what he wants, his hand moves involuntarily to Harry's back; flush against his warmth.

Like two magnets coming together, Kim muses. Harry does lean into the touch, sighing softly. His thumb draws circles against the fabric of Harry's shirt, coaxing the remnants of his terrors away. 

Kim thinks about the best way to brief Harry on their next course of action. It's probably best not to mention the call with Dora Ingelrilt, for obvious reasons.

"I called Lieutenant Vicquemare and Patrol Officer Judit while you were sleeping. I have to go over to the station to pick up your files. Do you want to come?"

_ Are you able to come,  _ is what he's really asking.

Harry ponders for a moment before giving a tired, but genuine smile. 

"Yeah, I am." He croaks, determination burning in his eyes. Kim can't help but smile too, at his persistence.

Then, Harry leaves to take a shower and get ready to leave. He'd be gone for half an hour, Kim estimates. In the meantime, he inspects Harry's apartment. 

The place has been cleaned up since the first time him and Harry stepped foot in it, opening the tomb of festering alcohol bottles and misery. Where piles of abandoned disco clothes and collected detritus once laid is now a bookshelf housing tomes of various genres. Kim surveys the spines, seeing topics ranging from the pale and its connection to the mind to the Adventures of the Man from Hjelmdall.

Harry's habit of picking up arbitrary clutter had not been forgotten like his mind. Mementos of solved cases littered the shelves; a crystalline paper weight in the shape of a clementine, a half-beaten stuffed teddy bear, a gaudy pair of red sunglasses, and a photograph that catches his attention.

Curious, Kim picks up the picture and feels his ears grow warm when he registers the colors of the film in his hand. It's him, laughing, face turned away to the side. A rare moment of him letting his guard down. Behind his figure, the sun melts into the horizon, bathing everything it touches in a hazy golden glow.

Kim remembers the day Harry had taken this. He had given his partner his Trigat Sunshine to take pictures of a crime scene. The detail of asking for the camera back had slipped by him when the witness with them, who ended up being the perpetrator, began to make a run for it.

Later on in the day, he and Harry had their One cigarette together. Harry had made a joke that caught him off guard. Then came the sudden telltale flash of a camera, along with the burning feeling of embarrassment. Harry's sheepish and proud face melds into a sea of fond memories.

_ Flip it over. _

Kim turns the photograph over to see words scrawled at an angle on the back. He slightly tilts the sheet and nearly drops it at the words he sees.

  
  
  


_ "I love you." _

  
  
  


Warmth bursts from deep within his chest as his heartbeat quickens. The heat radiating from the tips of his ears spread to the rest of his body. A million thoughts races through his head, a million different possibilities. 

What if- What if he loves him back? The words are right there in front of him, the proof of his affections. 

But what if that's not what Harry means? He didn't know what  _ money  _ was, why would he conform to society's definition of love? What if he just meant it in his usual platonic, eccentric way?

Heavy footsteps descend from the staircase and Kim scrabbles to return the photo in its original position and grabs a book from the shelf. He looks up from the page that he randomly turned to when the footsteps draw closer. 

He prays to whatever god out there that he looks nonchalant and not as if he had a heart attack.

"Oh," Harry blinks. "I didn't know you were into astronomy." 

Kim glances at the book cover.  _ "88 Facts About the Celestial World",  _ it reads.

"It seemed interesting." He says coolly and closes the book, sliding it back into the shelf. 

Kim collects his composure and turns to look at Harry in the eye, gauging for any trepidation. "Are you ready to go?" 

Harry returns the gaze steadily and nods with a small smile on his face. He's wary, but strong. 

"I am, Kim."

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this one and it met your expectations! I am belatedly realized that Jean's title is Satellite Officer and I've been incorrectly referring to him as Lieutenant... whoops. 
> 
> Anyway, kudos and comments are very much appreciated in this household! Please excuse any errors! It is 2:37 AM and I am very tired and should probably go sleep!!!!!


	6. Platanus occidentalis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange fog disperses in his head, sweeping behind his eyes and coiling in the gaps between his bones and joints. Something takes a hold of him and he could almost hear a pop as the reins of his consciousness are handed off to another entity. 

The outside air is pleasantly warm, a breeze carries the air of Jamrock; tinged with city smog and a hint of sulfur. The lieutenant steps down from the concrete steps of the apartment, his partner trailing not too far behind him. Coming up to the fence, he opens the gates, the rusty hinges protest with a piercing screech. Kim begins to take out the keys to his Kineema before stopping. He turns around to Harry, who seems to be conversing with his voices.

“The station isn’t too far from here, right?”

Harry blinks from his stupor, reeling in his thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it’s pretty close.” 

Kim hums in thought and takes in the springtime around him. The shift in seasons has brought a breath of life to Jamrock; small patches of stubborn blossoms and leaves peek through cracks in asphalt and a sense of renewal washes the streets. The sun stands poised directly above them, casting the world in its blinding rays. A blue canvas stretched on for an infinite number of miles, cotton clouds lining the horizon. It’s a beautiful, picturesque day.

He returns his gaze to Harry, whose attention is directed solely to him. His enrapture is enough to bring back the burning in the tip of Kim’s ears, which he quells immediately. 

“Khm. How about a walk, then?”

Harry smiles and nods, Kim pointedly ignores how the sight sends a flurry of butterflies in his stomach.

_ It’s a smile he shows only to you, you’ve never seen him with this look with anyone else.  _ His mind helpfully stokes the fire whirling in his chest as the two begin walking down the path towards the repurposed silk mill known as Precinct 41. 

_ Stop it,  _ Kim berates himself and wonders just how much Harry has rubbed off him.  _ You’re not some juvenile with a schoolyard crush. Be professional.  _

Beside him, Harry murmurs a low rumbling melody. It’s vaguely familiar, it might be a song from Sad FM. Other than the humming, the two walk in companionable silence, rounding corner shops basked in the glow of neon signs and passing lines of nearly identical apartment blocks. Harry makes it a point to pause and wave hello to every random stranger, an endearing gesture. Kim looks away when the fabric of his sleeves catches and reveals stark bandages beneath. 

After a few minutes they reach the final intersection. Just ahead is the dusty old mill. Inside, Patrol Officer Judit pours over pages of case files to hide the slight tremors in her hand. She glances back to the clock every so often, the fine-print letters blurring with the ticking numbers at the minute hand. Lieutenant Vicquemare gives up all notions of subtlety and begins to pace back and forth the bullpen. _Where is Lieutenant Kitsuragi_ _and that shitkid?_ He thinks.

Just before they round the corner, Harry takes a sudden left turn, down a street with few rundown buildings branching off to an empty lot with flowering trees. Kim blinks and stops, momentarily caught off guard by this change of plan. He stares at Harry’s fleeting back, taut with a strange rigidness like a marionette acting out on a puppeteer’s whim; or muscle memory. 

Curiosity and concern begins to bubble in Kim’s chest as he treads silently after Harry and deeper into the park.

  
  


_ Now a right at this spot- _

_ Turn left. _

Harry’s shoe scuff against the heated concrete pavement as he abruptly switches directions. A strange fog disperses in his head, sweeping behind his eyes and coiling in the gaps between his bones and joints. Something takes a hold of him and he could almost hear a  _ pop _ as the reins of his consciousness are handed off to another entity. 

Short stone buildings discolored from age, rust, and thick dark vines scatter on the uneven roads; the residences grow sparse until a park lush with greenery comes into view. Each step feels hauntingly familiar, somehow.

_ Crunch. Soft snow yielding beneath worn down soles. White powder lines the bare branches swaying slightly in the wind.  _ Harry looks down at the grey pavement at his feet and to the glittering leaves, the sun shining idly through the canopies. 

_ Laughing.  _ He follows the noise, it’s right there, barely out of reach.  _ Bright laughter echoes in the summer breeze, rivaling the brilliance of the sun.  _ He raises a hand to grasp the sound, but it slips away from his fingers apologetically. 

The stone path gives way to dirt, gravel crumbling under his step.  _ Twin beams of light, piercing the darkness and the shadowed silhouettes of trees; Dust particles swim in the beams. His light lands on an illuminated grin full of mirth despite the dim twilight umbrage.  _ Harry brushes his hand against the bark of an old tree, half covered in moss. 

He feels a sudden wetness on his hands. A glance at his fingers show nothing.  _ Slippery, hasty movements; slick with regret and sorrow. A mess of words fall from his lips, filled with panic. A cold hand to his cheek. It was your fault, it was your-  _ Harry’s legs stop before the base of a trunk. A lone tree, the space around it is oddly vacant of flora; as if the other verdure bow before the centerpiece. He looks up, the sun looming through the foliage.

_ Platanus occidentalis.  _ The White Sycamore tree.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Kim watches as Harry traverses through the park, as if reliving the past. He trails after him until he stops before a large tree. A White Sycamore. Its cortex glistens in the light, pale leaves rustling softly in the wind.

Harry is still as grave, Kim’s unease grows with each unmoving second. His eyes drop to Harry’s clenched fist, trembling ever so slightly.

And just as Kim opens his mouth to speak, something undoes in Harry’s composure; as if the strings controlling him just snapped. He turns around and just like that, the spell is broken. 

Harry smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Sorry, I think I took a wrong turn on the way.” He chuckles, the sound has a wrong edge to it, it's too sharp, too false.

"Harry…" Kim trails off, unsure of what to say. The classic question  _ "Are you okay?"  _ doesn't seem particularly helpful in this instance.

The lieutenant straightens his back, a gentle conviction coloring his voice. He watches Harry's features contort with a stiff discomfort. It seems he's unused to being the recipient of a questioning. 

"We will need to talk about this eventually. I understand if right now isn't a good time to do that. Do you want to return home?" The lieutenant scans his partner’s face for any sign of falsity as he forms an answer.

After a few seconds, Harry shakes his head confidently. “No, I’m good to go.” Then he smiles, a genuine smile, his eyes gleaming with a strange emotion Kim can’t pinpoint. “Thank you, Kim.”

“Khm. No need to thank me, detective. I do care about you.” Damn, the last part betrayed more about his feelings than he would’ve liked. Before he could backpedal, Harry’s smile grows to a grin. The sight of it tugs something in his chest.

“Alright, we’ll retrieve the file from the precinct and then we’ll head back. But we are going to talk about this.” Kim arches his brow, exuding an outrageous amount of authority and conviction. 

Harry nods and Kim mercifully relents in his sternness. He follows after Harry as his partner leads them out of the park.

As they walk across the dirt path, Kim feels something staring through his soul. He glances behind him, the paper-pale tree stands passively. A shiver runs down his spine despite the warm glow of the sun. He quickens his steps, the chill clinging onto his skin like an apparition.

* * *

The two arrive at the station within a few minutes. Harry pushes the groaning doors open, gesturing Kim to go first like a gentleman. Kim flashes an amused smile, Harry’s lips spreading into an involuntary grin. The doors slide close, and the two make their way to the C-Wing, located in the very back of the precinct. The other RCM officers pay them no heed save for a few glance, chattering amongst themselves with styrofoam cups half-filled with ashy coffee in their hands. 

Kim cracks open the doors to the C-Wing and two figures tumble through the doorway, their faces colored with worry. The lieutenant nearly falls over from the force of the collision.

“Oh, sorry, Lieutenant Kitsuragi!” Minot says sheepishly. Vicquemare has the decency to look somewhat abashed.

Then, they spot Harry and a hush befalls the officers at the entrance.

“I’m sorry.”

“Wh-”

Harry raises his hand when the others open their mouths with looks of incredulity. Their jaws close, retorts brimming at their tongues. 

“I got my shit together, I’m not the same mess I was before. But I fucked up and I made you worry and scared when you shouldn’t be. So, I’m sorry."

Minor's eyes soften as she shakes her head. "You don't have to be sorry, lieutenant. You did worry us quite a bit, but that's because we cared."

Vicquemare nods slightly and turns his gaze to the ground, mulling over his words. "I know we got off a rough start. But…even I have to admit you've changed- for the better." He scowls but his tone betrays him. "I'm glad to see you hear, shitkid."

Harry sniffles. If his eyes were glassy, no one said anything about it. Without a word, he throws himself at Minto and Vicquemare. Surprised laughter bubbles from the farmer's chest and the latter flails about vainly. They both hug the lieutenant back (Vicquemare does so with a mixture of exasperation and fondness). Much to his chagrin, Harry turns to his partner with an expectant gleam in his eyes. Kim returns the look with a single raised eyebrow. 

Undeterred, (he must've developed a resistance at this point) Harry continues with his puppy eyes. After two beats, Kim sighs and trots over to the impromptu group hug, and wraps his arms lightly around the officers crowding the entrance. 

Eventually they break apart and Kim follows Harry into the C-Wing.

  
  
  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii it's been a while, hasnt it? 
> 
> As you can probably tell, I'm not quite in the DE fandom anymore (though I will forever love this game) and I honestly wasn't going to finish this fic due to my terrible attention span and my concerns that I wasnt treating the sensitive topics in this fic with enough respect.
> 
> But I got a comment on this fic and that led me to rereading it thinking to myself, 'hey this actually isnt all that bad' so I just might continue this haha
> 
> Well, kudos and comments r appreciated if you enjoyed this! (It is was got my writing this again lol) Also, please excuse any misspellings, it is 4 am here after all ✌

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Disco Elysium is a very good game and deserves more fan content!


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